


tiger, tiger, burning bright

by Siria



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: picfor1000, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So dude,” Stiles called over his shoulder, “not to alarm you or anything but there’s a tiger in our back yard.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	tiger, tiger, burning bright

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the picfor1000 challenge, inspired by [this image](http://www.flickr.com/photos/60144174@N06/7601584854/). Thanks to Sheafrotherdon for betaing!

“So dude,” Stiles called over his shoulder, “not to alarm you or anything but there’s a tiger in our back yard.”

“We don’t have a back yard,” Derek said, switching his briefcase to his other hand so he could lock the door behind him. “It’s all just part of the preserve.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, “because that was the key part of the sentence to hone in on there. Property rights.” He tried to point at the tiger without making it obvious that he was pointing at the tiger because hey, _tiger_ ; Stiles might spend a lot of time hanging around with supernatural beings who had the ability to rend him limb from limb but he’d never known a werewolf to eat someone they were bros with and he wasn’t going to tempt fate if this was the kind of tiger who found it rude if someone pointed a finger at it. He felt magic spark, protective, at his fingertips.

“Breathe, Stiles,” Derek said, resting his hand against the small of Stiles’ back. If his words were clipped, then his touch was still gentle, his hand warm even through the layers of Stiles’ jacket and t-shirts and unerringly centred right over Stiles’ tattoos. “She’s just passing through.”

“This tiger,” Stiles said, wondering if trying to hide behind Derek could be considered a breaking of his wedding vows, “this wild, man-hunting carnivorous predator native to Asia is just _passing through_ Beacon Hills?”

Derek shrugged.

“What,” Stiles said, squinting at him, “she’s just taking a rest break here on her way to San Francisco?”

“Looks like it.”

Stiles swung back around to see that the tiger now seemed to be taking a nap in the shadow of one of the great trees that stood at the edge of the clearing, her coat fire-bright against the newly-fallen snow. If he listened carefully, he thought he could hear the faint whuffing sounds of her breath as she slept. “Okay,” Stiles said, “either I had too much coffee this morning or not enough.”

“Really?” Derek said, “After everything, this is what gets to you—a tiger?”

“Look, having a tie-wearing accountant werewolf for a husband is one thing,” Stiles said, poking him in the chest with one indignant finger, “escaped zoo fauna is another!”

Derek rolled his eyes. “She hasn’t escaped from a zoo, Stiles.”

“Uh, she’s a tiger?” Stiles said, with what he thought was admirable restraint.

A corner of Derek’s mouth twitched. “I should be in a zoo, by that logic.”

It took a moment for Stiles to think that through, and then his eyes widened and he smacked Derek on the arm. “Holy shit, you asshole, why did you never tell me there are _weretigers_?” he crowed.

“Because there aren’t any,” Derek said.

“But you just—”

“That’s not what they call themselves,” Derek said. “You want a ride to work or are you taking your car today?”

“Uh, neither,” Stiles said, “on account of how I’m going to stay here and chat with the weretiger when she wakes up, because _weretiger_ , Derek.” Scott was going to be so pissed that he’d had to go to that conference in Denver, because _weretigers_ ; Stiles was getting to cross something off his bucket-list he hadn’t even known was on there, and he made a living as a vědmák. 

“You saying it a lot isn’t going to make it a thing,” Derek said.

“Pfft,” Stiles said, “the only reason ‘fetch’ never happened is because I was, like, nine when that movie came out. I am a power-broker of neologisms.”

“What?” Derek said, forehead creasing in confusion before shaking his head as if to clear it. “Just... don’t bother her, okay? She’ll have walked a long way.”

“You still haven’t told me how—”

“Keriljaen was a good friend of my mom’s,” Derek said softly, so softly that Stiles reached out and trailed his fingertips over the back of Derek’s hand in mute comfort. “She always has safe passage through our territory.”

“She doesn’t want to come in?” Stiles said, looking back at the long sprawl of tiger in the snow. “It’s not like we don’t have the guest rooms, and I don’t mind if you don’t.”

Derek shook his head. “Her people have different customs. She’s not going to come inside.”

“Huh,” Stiles blinked. “Well. Not that I ever thought I’d need to be up to date on my weretiger etiquette, but you learn something new everyday.”

“Seriously, they don’t call—”

“Yeah yeah, got it,” Stiles said, leaning in to smack an obnoxiously loud kiss against Derek’s mouth—and then to kiss him again, slower and with care, lingering there for a long moment on their porch. Even after ten years, the soft scrape of Derek’s beard against his cheek still had the power to make Stiles shiver, to distract him utterly from the fact that he had three clients waiting to see him this morning and an impossible creature having a nap on his lawn. “I’m very sensitive to the identity issues of all supernatural entities,” he mumbled.

Derek snorted, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist, briefcase abandoned at his feet. “That’d be a lot more convincing if you hadn’t been rude to that hobgoblin the other day.”

Stiles yelped, outraged. “Okay, first of all, he was a total dick who deserved—”

“Shh,” Derek said, “Not so loud. You’ll wake the weretiger.”

“Ha!” Stiles said, “Ha, you admit that... oh, that was humour, wasn’t it, that was you making a joke, that was a whole wry thing.”

“Yup.” Derek’s poker face was masterful, but Stiles could swear he saw a crack in it.

“See,” Stiles said, fighting back his own laughter, “this is why I never understand that whole stereotype about werewolf accountants having no sense of humour.”

“Well,” Derek said solemnly, “you are very sensitive to my identity issues.”

Their snorts of laughter woke Keriljaen up; her sense of humour wasn’t as finely honed as Derek’s, it turned out, but Stiles thought it was worth it.


End file.
